


Three Final Goodbyes

by HaraJorja



Series: No Ordinary Heart [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-18 12:33:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18699688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaraJorja/pseuds/HaraJorja
Summary: Death is a part of life and those left behind must say their final goodbye's, no matter how hard that may be.*A part of the 'No Ordinary Heart' series.*





	1. Eleanor

The black robes which swamped Minerva McGonagall Dumbledore's frame did not seem dark enough. 

As Minerva caught a glance of herself in the full length mirror, she felt as if the dark cloth which swaddled her grey skin did not seem dark enough or deep enough to convey the colour of her broken, bitter soul. The colour of mourning, a universal colour which had been used for centuries upon centuries, seemed too mundane, too heroic to truly express what grief felt like. Minerva felt as if she were wearing an armour of courage, as if the black would be enough to show how strong she was to the world but... Minerva was not strong. Minerva had never been weaker in all of her life. She wasn't sure how to her tired legs were supporting her, or how her heart remembered to continue to beat because her mind was empty. She could think of nothing and yet, it her head felt as heavy as stone. When she closed her eyes, she could see nothing but grey mist and sketchy shapes - figures roaming in the darkness, voices echoing, lost and melancholy. She was not a great warrior, clad in black as a defender against her grief; she was nothing but a shell, empty and cold, full of regret and pain. 

She had come back to Hogwarts the evening before. Although she had been absent since she had finally packed her things up and left Albus and the castle behind, she couldn't think of anywhere else to spend the night but the rooms in which they had brought Eleanor up. When she arrived, they were as she had left them; the furniture had not been moved or even touched. It was familiar, even if it was cold and dusty, and for a moment, Minerva had readied herself to enter Eleanor's room but... she hadn't quite made it that far. No, when she finally retired for the evening to spend the night in her sleepless, empty marital bed, Minerva had shot a furtive glance at Eleanor's closed bedroom door down the hallway but she had been too fearful to walk in there. She could remember every inch of it but she knew that to enter would mean to be overwhelmed by the sights and smells of Eleanor and she would no doubt drown in it. 

On this grey morning, as the dim morning light slipped through the narrow windows of her bedroom, Minerva could only feel dread. The anxiety sat in the pit of her stomach, sending tremors through her bones and causing bile to rise in her throat. The day had crept up on her and yet, it seemed that it had arrived all of a sudden, without warning. For a week, Minerva had only been able to think about this day and when she did, her mouth went dry and her head started to pound. Cold blood rushed to her temples, her palms began to sweat as her heart shuddered and beat so fast she thought she might die. The only way she had been able to calm herself was to remind herself that she had so many days left, so many hours, before she had to face the dreaded event. But it had come. It was here and Minerva had pulled herself from her sleepless bed to dress in heavy, thick robes for the occasion. All the while her mind was spinning - how could this be happening? Surely this wasn't real? Good God, it couldn't be! 

But it was real. And Minerva would have to live through this day as she would have the live through the rest of her days. 

Minerva took one final glance of herself, tucked a stray hair behind her ear and smoothed her skirts. Taking a deep breath, she reached for her outer robe, which she fastened tightly around her neck, and with a surge of determination that seemed overpowering but was not nearly as strong as usual, she marched from her bedroom. She only made it down the carpeted hall and into her sitting room before the adrenaline drained and the dread and fear took over once again. She couldn't moved. She knew that with each step she would get closer and closer to the final destination and she wasn't ready to face it. She wouldn't ever be ready to face it. For the first time that morning, Minerva thought of Poppy and wondered how she was coping with it all. Poor Poppy was in the same position as Minerva and had probably looked to this day with the same amount of dread. Had Poppy taken an age to dress because her reluctant limbs would no co-operate? Had Poppy glanced in the mirror and wished she were dead? Was Poppy struggling now to leave her cottage and face the day as she must? 

But then, Poppy had Aberforth. Aberforth had Poppy. They had each other to lean on on this dreadful day. If one of them faltered, the other could offer them a piece of their strength. If one of them cried, they could press their face into the other's shoulder. If one of them could not move, they had the other to encourage them. Minerva had nobody. Minerva was alone and must face this alone. She would look across and see Albus, just as alone as she, and she would know that he was suffering as she was and yet, they couldn't lean on each other. They couldn't rely on each other. There was no more Albus & Minerva, the couple, the lovers, the spouses. They were not the parents of the dead, they were each a parent of the dead. Minerva wondered if any of this would have been easier with Albus. If she was still his wife, and not just legally, would her grief be any less? Would she be able to cope with it better, knowing that she was loved and knowing that she could share that grief should she want too? She doubted that it would have made the pain any less but she did think that perhaps, the aftermath would have been easier. If she had Albus at her side now, she might have been able to make the dozen steps it would take her to cross the floor; she might have had the strength to open her front door and pass through it, thus emerging into the world. When she had Albus at her side, she felt as if she could do anything. 

Minerva, however, was quite alone and quite unable to leave the sorrowful comfort of her apartments. The cold, lifeless sitting room was suddenly so inviting. Here, nobody would be able to look at her with their sympathetic gazes. Nobody would be able to shake their heads at her and mutter: "Such a waste. Such a terrible thing." Good God! What did they know? A terrible waste? They had no idea. They had no idea of what Eleanor could have achieved. They had no idea of the impact Eleanor could have had on the world. Minerva's miracle child, the child which had held her family together, was gone, taken, obliterated. How could such a precious life simply vanish? In what world was that the norm? Why should Minerva except it? 

A wave of grief, a fresh and strong as it had been when Minerva had first been told of Eleanor's death, swept through Minerva and she gripped onto the arm of the red sofa for support. Her legs shook and her knees trembled. Tears stung her tired, sore eyes and her breath became fast and ragged. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be real. Surely, she could not be burying her dead daughter today? It seemed only weeks ago that Eleanor had been born. How could have grown up and lived and died already? How was it that Minerva remained when she had nothing else to give to this world? With her free hand, Minerva frantically wiped away the tears from her eyes and face but they were uncontrollable and no matter how often or how deeply Minerva breathed in, they continued to flow. She rubbed her chest; she could feel her heart snapping again, feel the iciness of it. Minerva was panicking and she knew it, but she couldn't bring herself back. 

In her panic, Minerva didn't notice the door click open. Nor did she hear the shuffle of footsteps in the hallway. She was not aware of anyone entering her apartments until Molly Weasley entered the sitting room. Her pale round face was full of concern but it quickly changed to horror when she caught sight of Minerva, barely holding herself up. Molly flew to Minerva's side and put at arm around her to support her. Carefully, with all the softness and compassion of a mother, Molly guided Minerva to the sofa and sat down with her. She caught hold of both of Minerva's hands and squeezed them before she lifted one of her own to Minerva's face and gently patted her cheek. 

"You can do this, Aunt Minerva," Molly whispered furiously. "I do not doubt it. You are capable." 

Minerva shook her head. "No. No, I'm not," Minerva moaned, her voice thick and hoarse. "You're wrong, Molly. I won't go - I can't go. I cannot say goodbye to her. Once I do, it's final. There's no going back." 

"Oh," Molly cried softly. "It's already final, Auntie. You can't go back now anymore than you'll be able to once today is over." 

Through her tears, Minerva smiled wanly. "I hear myself in your words. Softly spoken but to the point." Minerva drew her hands to her face and wiped it. "I needed that. I'll need it all day, Molly. If I just had somebody with me, somebody who could - Poppy has Aberforth, you see..." 

"But you do have somebody. You have me. I'm not going to leave your side for a minute," Molly said earnestly. 

"No, no. You are young, I should not be relying on you. You have your own grief to deal with and I should be there for you, Molly. I'm the adult. I'm the mother-" Minerva croaked. 

"I am not the one burying my daughter," Molly retorted. "I cannot even begin to comprehend what you are feeling right now. God, I just can't - but, you forget that I am an adult and mother now. So you can rely on me. I will be here," Molly linked an arm through Minerva's. "Right here, all day. And all night if need be. After everything you and Poppy and Albus and Aberforth have done for me, let me do this for you." 

Minerva's thin face screwed up as another wave of tears rolled over her. "You are the sweetest thing. Your mother she was just like you. Sweet and kind...I wish Ellen were here. I don't know why, I just do. I don't know how I'm going to get through today. I don't know how... I just never imagined that I would ever have to do anything like this, let alone do it by myself. I wish I had Ellen... I wish I had Albus. Albus would know what to do. Albus will be able to do this without crumbling to pieces. He won't be wishing to somebody else. He won't be-" 

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Auntie," Molly whispered. "I went to see him earlier. I went to him first because, like you, I assumed that he would be...better, in a way. But, oh my! I've never seen Albus like it. A heap on the floor, a grey faced old man, his eyes so red and blood shot I couldn't see the infamous blue. Honestly, I thought he was ill..."

Minerva was surprised that Albus was as bad as he was. She always regarded him as sure of himself, as capable of doing anything that he must do. She knew that he would be grieving the loss of Eleanor. She knew that he would be as hurt and heartbroken as Minerva but somehow, she imagined that he would be strong enough to get through today with as little fuss as possible. But then, as she thought about Molly's words more and more, Minerva realised that they had both been wrong and Minerva should have known that Albus would need guiding through the whole affair. He could face his own death head on, he could solve any manner of mystery or complication through careful thought and oftentimes wit, but, he became a powerless mess when it came to grief. It was a feeling that he could no process - along with shame - and Minerva should have known that. Out of the two of them, it would be Minerva who would most likely pull herself together enough to coast through the day, not Albus. Albus would need his hand held and words of encouragement whispered to him at all times, otherwise he would not be able to cope. 

Grabbing Molly's hand and kissing it lightly, Minerva said: "You must go to Albus now. I'll pull myself together, eventually, but he will not. You must go to him and be at his side today. He'll need someone... he'll need you." 

"But what about you?" 

Minerva smiled grimly. "Don't worry about me. As long as Albus is alright, I'll be fine," and it didn't seem odd to her that once again she was being selfless for a man who didn't love her. She didn't even consider it; in her mind, she still owed him everything because she still loved him. She would do anything for that man and would never question it, not for as long as she lived. As she watched Molly reluctantly leave, Minerva didn't feel regret at ordering her away, in fact, she felt relief. At least she wouldn't have to worry about Albus today. 

With Molly gone, Minerva found herself in silence again. She could hear the clock ticking and the birds singing in the branches outside her window; she could hear the hubbub of voices outside in the grounds - students or funeral attendees? Whichever it was, it was the chattering of people, people she would have to face. No matter how hard she wished to, Minerva couldn't back out of today. She had no choice but to emerge into the day and stand at the foot of her daughter's coffin. She had no choice but to accept the condolences of people who had no idea how it felt. She would have to smile tightly, politely and quietly thank everyone for their words. Words , she knew, that would be of no comfort or solace and were just wasted breath that might have been saved for Eleanor. And who would use the air to speak? Stupid, useless mouths who needn't be in the world at all; half the ministry who had never done the world any good; most of the wizarding world, at least half of whom would be traitors and no doubt bore the dark mark themselves. How on earth did people expect her to greet these people, to socialise with them? People who didn't deserve to be alive just as Eleanor did not deserve to be dead? Minerva let the familiar feeling of bitterness fill her, she let herself scorn the living, she let herself wish people dead for she no longer cared. She hardly cared about anything but this, knowing that murderers could be walking freely among her, flared her temper. 

She was glad of it, for she could feed off her temper. Her anger created a fire in her which thawed her old bones and brought her back on her feet. She finally knew just how she would get through today - she would live off of scorn and hatred, judgment be damned. She didn't owe anyone anything. She only owed it to herself to cope with the next few, long hours before she could scurry back to her rooms. With her teeth clamped together and her fists screwed up into tiny balls, Minerva mustered the strength to match from the room and enter the stone corridor. She was glad to find it empty and silent, save for the low moans of the wind that swept along the walls; a chill wind which made Minerva shudder and pull her robes tighter around her. As she continued down the corridor, her skirts swaying and grazing the stone floor, Minerva hoped that she might see one of the culprits. What she wouldn't give to see a 'hidden' Death Eater - she would call them out and kill them on the spot. She didn't care if she was sent to Azkaban for it. 

"Minerva?" 

It was a soft voice which caught Minerva's attention and made her turn on her heels. A weak, faltering voice which she barely recognised. 

Poppy stood like a leaf shuddering in the wind, her thin hands shaking and her lip quivering. Her wide, blue eyes were heavy and red and her bright hair was pulled back from her face, revealing deep lines around her mouth and the harrowing hollows of her cheeks. She swayed on her feet as if drowning from the weight of her garments and for the first time, Minerva saw her mirror image. No doubt Minerva looked just as lost and aged. No doubt her black robes swamped her and looked at if they might drag her down to the floor. Neither she nor Poppy resembled the formidable, capable, fiery women they were; they were replaced by shadow and grey skin. If they had never looked like sisters before, they did now and it was a great shock to Minerva. 

"Pomfrey, what are you doing up here? Why aren't you with, Aberforth?" Minerva asked, taking Poppy's hand and squeezing it. 

"I knew that you would be alone and I- I just couldn't bear the thought of you arriving to your own child's funeral on your own," Poppy replied. "We've been through it all, you and I, but never this. Never did I think we would have to go through this. But... we have too, don't we? And I won't let my grief stop me from being here, with you. We held each other up when Ellen died; why should it be any different today?" 

It was true. Every blow that had been dealt to them, Minerva and Poppy had faced together and Minerva could not have been more grateful for her friend than she was at that moment. They needed each other to face the day; two mother's burying their murdered children. Two mother's burying their only children. Two mother's who were no longer mother's at all. 

Minerva slipped her arm through Poppy's and they began their long walk, neither knowing who was holding up who. 

*

Closing her eyes, Minerva drew in a deep, ragged breath. On one side of her she could feel the trembling body of Poppy as she sobbed into her hands; on the other side she could feel Priscilla, digging her fingers into Minerva's arm in an attempt to comfort or steady her - Minerva didn't know which. 

She had been fine when she entered the small chapel. She had been fine when Priscilla kissed her cheek and murmured words of comfort. She had even been fine when she watched Albus enter like a black cloud, ashen faced and bewildered, with Molly at her side. No, everything had been fine until the coffins were walked in and then - then everything had fallen apart. William came first, carried by Arthur Weasley and few other school friend and Minerva had winced as Poppy's moan had echoed through the room. Poppy near collapsed onto her husband, who was looking at the floor and whose coughing hid the fact that he was struggling not to cry. Priscilla gasped as the unholy sound escaped from her daughter's lips and she grabbed Minerva's hand and squeezed it for strength. Minerva looked to her left and saw Molly sobbing with Albus's arm around her. As William was walked down, Minerva panicked. She felt sick - Eleanor would come next. Eleanor would follow and Minerva wasn't sure how on earth she was going to stand it. 

Eyes closed, Minerva listened as the shuffling footsteps stilled and she knew that it was now her turn to watch her own child be carried down. Snape emerged from around the corner, the coffin on his shoulder, his other hand gripping onto the wood tightly. His face was still, pale as usual, and his black eyes did not move. He walked with the others, his strides wide and determined and Eleanor's coffin came into full view, Minerva heaved. She forgot how to breath and felt the blood drain from her. Her limbs shook and her skin grey cold and all she could feel was her heart snapping and breaking and burning and dying all at once. For a moment, her world went black and she felt as if she were falling through the Earth. She bit her lip, drawing blood, to stop herself from crying out. Pricilla began to pat her arm firmly and Minerva looked from side to side, at Molly, Arthur, Aberforth, Poppy and Priscilla. She avoided looking at Albus - she couldn't look at the man who had given her Eleanor in the first place because... well, Eleanor had been so much like him. 

And then, a sound reached Minerva's ears that was more sickening, more harrowing than any cry from Poppy. 

From out of nowhere came a hoarse, low bellow which erupted around them all, bouncing from the walls and making everybody shake. It was filled with such grief; such pain; such shame that it seeped through everybody's skin and into their bones. Poppy was pulled from her stupor; her head shot up in the sounds direction and Priscilla's hand fell from Minerva's arm. For a moment, Minerva didn't recognise the sound, nor could she world out from whom it had come from but then she followed everybody's gaze and realised with horror that it was Albus. 

Molly gawped at him, unable to comprehend that such a noise could come from such a composed man and Arthur looked on his shock. Minerva was horrified, stunned, until she was able to gather herself together. Without any thought, without any doubt, Minerva gently pushed pass Poppy and Aberforth and rushed to Albus's side. Paying no heed to what had gone on between them, Minerva instinctively grabbed his hand and pulled it to her lips, pressing an urgent kiss again his skin. She patted his hand and moved closer to him as Molly fled. With a tight grip on his shoulder, Minerva turned his head to face her by his chin and stared hard into his blue eyes. 

"Albus," she whispered. "Not much longer, Albus. I promise." 

"You say that as if this will end." 

"Just look at me, darling. Don't look up there. Just look at me," she said and he did. For the rest of the service Albus did not break his gaze and by the time it was done, Minerva noticed that he was holding himself up again. He was no longer leaning on her as greatly as he had been and so she loosened her grip and let go on his hand. When her hand left his, he snatched it back and squeezed. 

And then he said the words that she had once said to Ellen, as she faced her own death: "Hold on to me, Minerva. Just hold onto me." 

*

That night the darkness came slowly. For all too long the sun remained high in the sky, so obstinate and unforgiving that it seemed as if dusk would never come. When the sky finally turned inky blue, Minerva was relieved. She was done. One of the hardest and worst days of her life was over and now, all she had to do was tackle the monumental task of carrying on. 

She decided to remain the castle that night. She couldn't stay for she was already feeling the weight of it on her shoulders but she couldn't bring herself to leave just yet. Just one more night in the Dumbledore home and then she would be able to leave. She would grant herself a few more hours of living in the past; a past which had been so warm and filled with joy Minerva thought she might burst. Everywhere she looked, there was a memory of Eleanor. By the fireplace Eleanor had first grabbed hold of the low coffee table and pulled herself onto her feet; in the kitchen Eleanor's tantrum had revealed her first piece of magic in which she made the cupboards explode. In the entrance hall, Eleanor had first waddled to her father, arms outstretched as she proudly showed of her new walking skills when he came in after a long meeting at the Ministry. Eleanor had grown up her. Minerva had had a family here. 

"I'm sorry, I thought you had left," came Albus's quiet voice as he came into the sitting room. "I don't mean to disturb you, Minerva, I'll leave-" 

"Albus! Wait!" Minerva called out. "Don't go on my account. I know why you are here; no doubt for the same reasons as me." 

Albus smiled sadly and shrugged. "I didn't know where else to go. We brought her up here, Minerva. She lived and breathed here." 

"I know, I know," Minerva whispered. She patted the empty seat next to her. "Come sit, you aren't disturbing me." 

Albus sat down slowly and began to play with the hem of his sleeve. "I want to thank you, my dear. I- Today, when I- well, I want to thank you for coming to my aid." 

"Don't be silly, there is no need to thank me," Minerva quipped. "Today was the hardest day of our lives. I'm sorry, Albus, I should have been with you from the start. I sent Molly to be with you because I didn't think-I- I didn't think that we should... be together, so to speak but I was wrong. You have lost Eleanor too and I should have been there to help you." 

Albus nodded but said nothing. Minerva watched his cheeks turn pink and his eyes water. 

"How- how have you been?" She asked tentatively. 

"I'm not really sure," he said. "I can't... can't remember. The days have merged into one another. Minerva, I-" and he wanted to tell her that he loved her, that he needed her more than he ever had. He was desperate to tell her that he could not live through the coming days without her. Eleanor had been a part of them both and if they were together, it might feel as if she were with them again. He wanted to tell her that without Eleanor, without Minerva, he couldn't see a point to any of it. He wanted to tell her that he had made a mistake and that they should come back to each other. 

He wanted to tell her so much but his heart was too full of sorrow and anguish to form the words. He felt too broken, to bereaved to utter them and instead, he started to sob. He heard Minerva follow suit and before they knew it, they were in each other's arms. 

They sat together in the their living room for the rest of the night, until dawn came and Minerva got up and packed her things. As she kissed his forehead and left, Albus realised that he finally had the strength to tell her that he loved her but it was too late - she was gone and he had missed his chance. 

With a sigh, Albus left, locking the door behind him. He stroked the front door and patted the key in his pocket before he turned on his heels and made for his office. He was alone and that was everything he deserved. 

 


	2. Albus

The black robes which swamped Minerva McGonagall Dumbledore's frame did not seem dark enough. 

But, she hardly had time to give it a moment's thought. Since the chaos had died down, since the body had been found at the foot of the tower, Minerva had not stopped. The shock and sadness felt by the school was quickly replaced by fear and all eyes turned to Minerva, searching for answers and waiting for orders. Faces, young and old, were flaccid and confused, unable to think for themselves and Minerva felt the weight of them all. She suddenly had a dozen things to do and hundreds of decisions to make, alone. In times like these, Minerva would often turn to Albus and ask for his levelled opinion before coming to any sort of decision. Even now, knowing that he was dead, she was so overwhelmed with everything that she at times found herself looking over her shoulder, ready to say: "Albus, what do you think we should do about this..." before she remembered that he was not there to answer her. 

She could forgive the students for their demands. She could forgive them for hounding her; they were frightened, confused, dazed and they had no idea that Minerva was stoically grieving her husband who had been dead barely twelve hours. But the staff, who were as insistent as their students, were relentless and Minerva couldn't help but resent them for the selfishness. They knew that she needed to grieve, they knew that she found herself a widow and yet their questions were unceasing. She hadn't had a moment, a second to herself since she had found Albus on the grass and so, it still did not seem real. 

It was odd. She had known that he was going to die for he had told her. He'd said goodbye. As she waited in the dark, when she was roused by Poppy because of the commotion of the Death Eaters in the castle, Minerva waited to hear the news. Never, in all her life, had Minerva expected to find out that her husband had been murdered. She was so sure that he would die with Potter, not by the hand of somebody else and most especially not by the hand of Snape! Not Severus, who had drawn his wand ready to defend Minerva and probably give his life for her, not Severus who had love their daughter. How could he betray them so? How could he betray Albus, who had defended him and stood by him always? It was so unfathomable, so incomprehensible that when Potter had first told her, she couldn't believe it. There was no way that Severus would do such a thing, not to Albus, but as more and more people told the tale, Minerva realised that it had to be believed - Snape had indeed killed Albus Dumbledore. 

If Minerva had been given a chance to dwell on that she was sure that it would have eaten her up. Upon first hearing the news, Minerva had been ready to march off and find him. Her blood boiling, Minerva had turned on her heels, ready to find and kill him. How dare he betray the man who had always supported him? How dare he betray Eleanor's father? How dare he betray her husband, damn it. It was only Poppy's intervention that stopped her from leaving. Poppy had grabbed her arm and said: "You can't leave Hogwarts, Minerva. What would Albus say?" and Minerva was forced to agree with her and stay. 

Now, Minerva was faced with the greatest decision of all - where should she bury Albus? 

She sat in her usual chair at the huge, round table in the staffroom. Albus's chair remained empty and she couldn't help but steal glances at it. The staff surrounded her, all pale and nervous, some chewing their lips, some fidgeting and some shaking their heads. For an hour they had talked at Minerva, asking question after question, hardly able to wait for her to answer before the next one came. 

"Students are being called home left right and centre. And who can blame the parents? Murder! At Hogwarts!" Horace Slughorn cried. "And the students are so worried that they will be called home before the funeral. Minerva, you've got to decide what you are going to do with the Headmaster and soon. I can hardly blame them for worrying. Of course they want to come, of course they want to see it. Who would have thought that any of us would live to see the funeral of Albus Dumbledore? I imagine the turn out - famous, powerful witches and wizards from all over-" 

"My husband's funeral is not a circus, Horace!" Minerva snapped. "You'll do well to remember that. Besides, I have yet to decide whether the students should be allowed to attend for that very reason." 

"Not attend! You can't Minerva!" 

"I can," Minerva said, her voice low. 

"Minerva, I don't think that is a good idea," Filius Flitwick muttered. "Albus was killed in front of so many of the students. They may need to attend. You cannot deny them the funeral of a Dumbledore." 

"Eleanor was a Dumbledore and I do not remember opening her funeral up to the world and his wife!" 

"With all due respect, Eleanor was not Albus," Filius countered. "Eleanor was not-" 

"I think we get your point, Flitwick!" Poppy exclaimed. "No need to go on." 

Minerva shot Poppy a look of gratitude before she asked:" Do you all agree with Horace and Filius?" And when every head at the table nodded, Minerva sighed. "Then you may tell the students that they can attend." 

"When will it be, Minerva?" Horace asked. "Where?"

"I don't - I haven't thought," she spluttered before she regained her composure. "I will let you know in due course. Now, you will have to excuse me," and she left as quickly as she could. 

Outside, finally alone, Minerva was able to think. Where would Albus want to be buried? It was something that they had never discussed and Minerva had never expected to be the one to make that decision. She never expected to outlive him, he had seemed immortal, and so she had never given it much thought. Albus had often said that he was older, that there was a huge age gap between them but even then he had never openly spoken of his death and what should happen. If he had made plans since he left her, she didn't know about them. If these plans were included in his will, she hadn't seen it - the damn Ministry had already taken in, despite Minerva's loud and violent protest. The only place she could think of was Godric's Hollow. The little cemetery already included the resting places of two Dumbledore's and Minerva wondered if Albus might like to be with his mother and sister again. He hadn't said much about them, other than they had died many years ago, but they were Dumbledore's and perhaps Albus belonged there. 

The only complication would be Aberforth. The matter would have to be discussed with him before any plans were finalised and Minerva wasn't sure what his reaction would be. She hadn't seen him at all since she'd left him in her living room to go and find Albus. She presumed that he knew of his brother's death, surely Poppy would have told him, and Minerva knew that Aberforth would have mixed feelings about it. The bad blood between brothers had thawed a little but the events involving Minerva and Albus had done little to rid it altogether. 

Minerva's reverie was broken by Poppy, who placed a firm hand on Minerva's shoulder. "They lack tact," she said. "No doubt because they are terrified of what is going to happen. But, you handled yourself well, Minerva. Not only have you got Dumbledore's death to deal with, you've got the shock of the Snape business." 

"Hmmm." 

"Come, Minerva, it's only me. There's nobody around now, you needn't... hold yourself together, not if you don't want too," Poppy said, her heart-shaped face full of concern. 

"I was just thinking," Minerva said slowly. "What Horace said - about where...what do you think?" 

Poppy shrugged. "I didn't really know Albus well enough. Not like that. Did he never say anything to you?" 

"No," Minerva shook her head. "But you have to remember that for the past twenty years we were separated so it wasn't any of my business anyway. I suppose if we had stayed together we would have discussed it, perhaps buried together but..."

"Aberforth and I are going together," Poppy said. "So you and Albus should go together. Choose where you want to go and put Albus there-"

"I can't do that!" Minerva exclaimed. "We weren't... He... Well, was he really my husband, Poppy? Am I really a widow? If he had been a simpler man, we would have been divorced years ago. I can't help but think that this isn't my decision to make. His next of kin shouldn't be me - it should be Aberforth. He's his brother and I'm-" 

"You're his wife, Minerva!" Poppy said. "If Albus had wanted to divorce you, he would have done but he didn't. He couldn't let you go because he loved you. And don't tell me he didn't-" 

"He did," Minerva admitted. "I was wrong and everybody was right. Albus did love me, he told me before he left with Potter." 

"At least he gave you that to live by," Poppy smiled. "I think you're over complicating this. Albus belongs here, at the school. Albus belongs with Eleanor, by the lake." 

"Do you think?" 

"Of course! Bury him here, Minerva. Then you'll never really be apart from him or Eleanor. You can be a family again." 

*

It was an old woman who stared back at Minerva as she smoothed her hair in the mirror. She looked upon a face she didn't recognise; a lined face, a grey face. She had never thought of herself as beautiful or charming but good God, there was nothing about her now that could be classed as anything but drab. Perhaps it was because she was completely alone. Perhaps it was because the two people she loved most in world had left her and she was forced to dwell on Earth without them. 

In the room that had she had slept in for nearly five decades, beneath the roof that had housed her family, Minerva felt such a sorrow that it took her breath away. From her dressing table the faces of the dead looked up at her; smiling, black and white faces filled with love and hope. As the camera flashed, these faces had nothing to fear and only the future to look forward too. Minerva ran her finger across the photos, barely able to see them through her tears. Her whole family, small but at a time perfect, was gone. If Minerva closed her eyes, she could remember the barest trace of Eleanor's voice, echoing as if she were calling from the next room and then, she thought of Albus's; a voice she would never be able to forget, a voice which she had heard nearly every day of her life for sixty years. Sometimes soft and caressing, sometimes bellowing and thunderous - there had been a darkness in Albus that few but Minerva had seen and she could hear it just as well as ever. 

Minerva never thought that she would be the last to remain. She never thought that she would outlive her daughter and husband; they would become a memory whilst she continued on, alone and unknowing, unsure and bitter. Life had played its cruellest trick and Minerva had yet to experience the welcome release, the longed-for meet of the dead.

It was almost beyond her comprehension that she stood here, on this very day, readying herself to bury her husband. Years before she had gone through the same, familiar routine. She had felt the same dread at what was to come as she contemplated the reality of burying her daughter. In the end, during that dreadful affair, she had gravitated towards Albus and they had been the only comforts to each other. Neither one of them would have been able to make it through without the other and when the day did finally end and they were alone together all night on the low sofa, it was only the presence of each other that stopped them from going mad with grief. Who was there to stop her now? Albus was gone. Her mainstay, her great love, was gone forever and Minerva was left to fend without him. She had never been without him. Since she stepped through the great oak doors and entered the breathtaking Great Hall at eleven years of age, Albus had been there. When Minerva woke at seventeen years old to be told that she was barren, Albus had been there. When she learned of Eleanor's death, Albus had been there. When Hermione found her way back to Minerva, Albus had been there. 

Hermione! Oh, how differently life should have played out for all of them! Minerva and Albus should have been grandparents, Eleanor should have been a doting mother and Hermione should have loved them all. Instead, they were strangers, trying with all the strength they had to learn about each other. If Hermione had remained in their care then Minerva might have had a piece of her family left to face the day with but the girl was a Granger and she had every right to be. Minerva wasn't sure if Hermione would ever identify as a Dumbledore and Minerva was never going to force the issue. No, any chance Minerva might have had to have a piece of family was gone, gone completely when Albus took his last breath. 

She turned away from the photos and stared at the neatly made bed. In this very room, Minerva had slept in the arms of her husband for the last time. In this small, airy room Minerva had last heard Albus whisper: 'I love you' and she didn't even know if he meant it. For years she had yearned to hear him say it again and when her wish was finally granted, it was said in urgency, during their last moments together. Perhaps Albus only loved in that moment. Perhaps he had said it because it was the last time he was to see his wife and he remembered what their marriage, what their life together had been like. Perhaps Minerva's outpourings had simply reminded him that he had loved her once and their falling into bed together had brought back those memories. Minerva didn't know and she would never know for Albus was dead. He was never coming back. 

How was she to get through this day without heartbreak so evidently shown on her face? The students had no idea that she was burying her husband but would it be obvious that she was absolutely broken by it as the service went on? Would she be able to hold herself together and conduct herself as they expected her to be - formidable and resilient? Would they sense a weakness in her and see, for the first time, that she was a desperate, pathetic human? 

Minerva didn't know and she wouldn't know until she faced the day. By now, the students would be dressing, ready to be collected by their Heads of House and taken to the vault by the lake. She had her own house to collect but first, she must have a drink. She must sit quietly for a moment and gather herself, otherwise she wouldn't make it to the common room, let alone the vault. With shaking hands Minerva poured a very large brandy and sat down on the edge of the small, green sofa. She stared at the dead fire, suffocating in the silence, feeling every minute, every second pass her by. She closed her eyes, gripping the glass tumbler tighter and leaned back. Her eyes were tired and sore, her limbs were aching. She breathed slowly - she could do this because it had to be done. 

She jumped at the light, unsure tap on her front door. She rolled her eyes - it would be Molly. Molly had come to her on the morning of Eleanor's funeral and as Minerva went to open the door, she smiled fondly. Molly had only ever been kind and thoughtful. But it was not Molly who smiled sadly at her when she opened the door but Hermione, who seemed to had grown into adulthood over night. Her mousey hair was pulled into an unruly bun at the nap of her neck, revealing the pointed thin jaw which resembled Minerva's and serious eyes. She seemed to stand taller than normal, her bearing more womanly and resolute. When she smiled at Minerva she did not look as if she were here to rely on the ageing Professor but she had instead come as an equal. The world had changed over night even for Hermione and she had been thrust into womanhood long before her time. 

"Miss Granger," Minerva said tightly. "It is not yet ten o'clock." 

"I know. I slipped out. I wanted to see you before you came and got us. I haven't been alone with you since..." and her voice trailed off as if she feared that mentioning Albus might cause Minerva to cry. 

"Come in," Minerva stepped aside. "I was just-" she sighed. She was going to lie about the drink but instead she closed the door and said simply: "I was just having a drink. Before, well, before the funeral." 

"Of course," Hermione said. 

She was stood by the window, illuminated by the grey gloom of the day and Minerva caught her breath as she looked at her. Hermione was thin and long limbed, elegant and grown - she was Eleanor, in every way. There was the barest trace of Snape in her, which Minerva chose at that moment to ignore, and by the way that the shadows played on Hermione's face, she could almost convince herself that it was Eleanor stood before her. Minerva wondered how often Hermione thought of the mother she didn't know and if she realised just how alike they were. 

"I didn't know that Eleanor was buried here," Hermione whispered. "It was only because Harry told me yesterday that Dumbledore was going to be buried here that I found out. I wandered over to the lake and I saw the great white mausoleum. I had a look around, because I don't think I'll get a chance to today without rousing suspicion and as I ran my hand across the door, it appeared. 'Here lies Eleanor Dumbledore Snape, Beloved Daughter, Wife & Mother.' Aren't you worried that the others might see it when they are there later?" 

"No," Minerva replied matter-of-factly. "Only blood relatives can see the inscription." 

"Oh," Hermione's brow furrowed in thought. "Why didn't you tell me that she was here?" 

"I didn't think that you would want to know." 

Hermione nodded slowly. "Do you - Professor, do you want me to stay with you today?" 

"No, thank you." 

"But, are you going to manage on your own." 

Minerva laughed bitterly. "I doubt it. I don't know how I'll ever manage on my own. It is not something I envisioned when I fell in love forty years ago." 

"I mean today, when they bury him-" 

"I will endure it," Minerva lifted her head haughtily. "As I must. The last thing we need is for people to ask questions. If they see you with me then they are bound too. The documents still exist, you know, even if they are buried. Mine and Albus's marriage certificate, Eleanor's and yours birth certificates. Each one stamped and filed appropriately. We don't want somebody to go looking for anything, do we? That's why Albus didn't divorce me during those years that we were separated." 

"But if you need me-" 

"I'm fine." 

"Forgive me, Professor but you seem a little... cold. I thought you loved the Headmaster, I thought that you would be-" 

"I did love him," Minerva scolded. "I do love him. And I'm absolutely heartbroken. Just because I am not in a weeping heap on the floor doesn't mean-" And Minerva closed her mouth, for she felt her temper begin to flare and she did not wish to snap at Hermione. "You should go back to the common room," she whispered. "I will be along shortly." 

Her tone was dismissive and she turned her back on the girl, who sighed and reluctantly left. As soon as Minerva heard the door click shut, a great sob escaped from her lips as she collapsed onto the floor, a mass of black skirts. As she cried, she pounded her pale fists into the ground and all but howled like a wolf. 

Minerva was alone and would be for the rest of her life. 

Albus was dead. He was never coming back. 

And Minerva loved him as fiercely and completely as she always had.  Minerva would never stop loving him. 

 


	3. Minerva

The black robes which swamped Hermione Granger Weasley's frame did not seem dark enough. 

The guilt which ate away at Hermione's soul could not be conveyed even in the deepest mourning. Gone was the chance to make things right, gone was her chance to appreciate the great woman that was Minerva Dumbledore. Oh, Hermione had loved her enough, she had included the magnificent witch in her life but now that Minerva was dead, it didn't feel enough. For years, Hermione had lived knowing that Minerva was still in this world, waiting for the odd visit or letter from the grand daughter she would never openly claim. The time had long since passed when such a claim would cause them any danger but Minerva had always remained conscious that Mrs Granger still lived and she would never have done anything to cause the innocent woman harm. Instead, Minerva waited patiently, grateful for any time Hermione bestowed upon her. Hindsight was the cruellest thing and Hermione now knew that she should have made much more time for the poor woman. 

Now, Hermione found herself in her grandmothers untouched apartments in the school. Minerva hadn't died here but she had remained Headmistress and so, her rooms remained as they always had been. As Hermione and Ron packed up the rooms, Hermione was struck by how much life had been lived there, how much love had endured within these walls and how much sorrow they had seen. In every room, on every surface and in every drawer sat reminders of Minerva's life. Small things like trinkets and scribbled notes; large things like portraits and picture frames; all told the story of Minerva McGonagall Dumbledore. 

They started in Minerva's bedroom. With boxes at their feet, Hermione and Ron opened the drawers and wardrobes and began folding the clothes within. Ron tackled the wardrobe, meticulously pulling green and black robes from hangers and folding them neatly. Hermione listened as Ron went about his task. She sat on the edge of the bed, her palms pressed firmly into the mattress, suddenly unable to rifle through and pack up the very private woman's life. How Minerva would have hated somebody pawing through her things! What a scene she would have caused when she found out! 

"Bloody hell, Hermione! Have you seen this?" Ron exclaimed, beckoning Hermione to look. "It's all still here. Dumbledore's clothes - look!" 

Ron pulled out a pile of moth-eaten multi-coloured robes. Some she recognised and some were like looking through windows of the past. "She must have taken them from his rooms, when he died. Or else he left some of them here when he left her." Hermione hurried over to the large chest of drawers that sat underneath the window and pulled them open. "Look, Ron," she said, gazing at the inter-mingled garments of Albus and Minerva; pyjamas, socks, underwear. "It's as if he never left. As if they remained married for all those years." 

"Do you think she moved it all? You know - when he died?" 

"No," Hermione shook her head. "I think a lot of it stayed her. Your Mum told me that Dumbledore left quite suddenly. She said that one day there were deeply in love and the next he declared that he no longer felt anything for her and was gone. I doubt he had time to pack everything up." 

"I've always found it odd, to think about Minerva in love," Ron mused. 

"Why would it be odd, Ronald?" Hermione questioned defensively. 

"Just because she was always so... strict. I mean, I can't imagine her cuddling up all doe-eyes and whispering sweet nothings, can you?" 

"Perhaps the Minerva we knew was different to the one who Dumbledore fell in love with, did you ever consider that? Perhaps their separation and the death of her daughter made Minerva a little strict or firm or guarded. Don't forget, Ron, that Minerva and Dumbledore had to say goodbye to their own child. A daughter who was murdered." 

"Oh, I suppose," Ron mumbled. He continued at his task in silence for a while before he said: "It's sort of sweet, McGonagall keeping all this as it was. And sad. She was obviously always waiting for him to come back." 

"I hadn't thought of it like that," Hermione whispered and a deep feeling of sadness swept over her. She was only just starting to understand that Minerva had loved Albus nearly all her life and that she had always longed for him, waited for him. Hermione suddenly realised that Minerva had never really been who she truly was without Albus, that her whole life had been lived according to him and what he might do. How on earth had Minerva survived his death? How on earth had she been able to pick herself up and carry on? During those months after Dumbledore's death, when Hermione had vanished in search for Horcruxes, the school and order had all relied on Minerva, forever picking at her for answers, unloading her fears on her and all the while Minerva was grieving the loss of her husband and nursing a shattered heart. How had she been able to bear it all? How had she been able to rise every day, to offer encouragement and defend everybody when there was nobody left on earth for her? 

Hermione shook her head sadly. There was somebody left for her. Hermione should have been left for her but she had been too wrapped up in her own thoughts to realise that Minerva, who would have given her life for Hermione, needed her. When the battle was won and the rubble was cleared away, Minerva had remained the ruler of the dusty castle, stood alone in the tower, determined and accepting of her fate but Hermione had been too concerned with her feelings for Ron, too concerned with finding her mother and father merely for her own contentment, that she had ignored the brave woman who would never have guilted her into becoming what Minerva needed. Hermione had inherited many things from her grandparents; ability, determination, a quick mind but it seems that she had not inherited Minerva's selflessness - the trait which seemed to define Minerva's whole life. 

Ron put his arm around Hermione's shoulders and squeezed. "You don't have to do this you know. I can finish up-" 

"I'm fine," Hermione choked. "I'm fine! I was just thinking... How do we pack up a life? Two lives and bury them away? How can we, two strangers, rummage through a marriage and decide what should be kept and what should be thrown away?" 

Kissing her head, Ron said: "You aren't a stranger. You're their-" 

"Don't say it," Hermione hissed. "No. That is not - Sometimes, I wonder what it would have been like if I'd been raised by my blood-family. Even if my mother had to die, I often think about where my life would be now if Dumbledore and Minerva had been a part of my growing up." 

Ron chuckled. "Well, it would have taken even longer for us to get together! Knowing that you were related to McGonagall? Terror!" 

Hermione slapped him lightly on the chest. "She wasn't that bad, you know. She was professional but that wasn't just who she is - was. You saw it, Ron. You saw that she was more than the school. She was ready to give up her life for me and Ginny. Didn't she launch herself in front of Voldemort when he went after your mother? Didn't she? She was so capable of love and I just... watched it slip away." 

Ron looked at the ground. "Hermione, I need to tell you something. You have to promise not to be mad - Mum made me promise not to say anything because Minerva was so worried that if you found out, you would feel pressured into something that you didn't want. But," Ron shrugged. "Minerva's gone now so she can't technically be mad at me, right?" 

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Just tell me," she seethed. 

"It wasn't me who found your parents after the battle. I tried, I tried so hard to find them. When you came back to school and me and Harry were working in the Ministry, I spent every spare minute trying to find them. My apparition skills certainly benefited from the search! Anyway, Mum knew how hard I was trying, how desperate I was to find them for you. We all knew that you spent the holidays roaming the globe for them but together, the both of us just seemed to come to dead end after dead end. Apparently, Minerva noticed how upset you got-" 

"She did," Hermione nodded. "She caught me crying in the library. I felt so guilty that I was putting my studies first and only half-heartedly searching for them because I wanted to pass my exams. I was torn. I told her that after she had ambushed me and dragged me to her sitting room. I never felt comfortable discussing them in front of her because I knew that it hurt her. A mist would come over her eyes and I knew that she was thinking of Eleanor, though she would never say. She hardly ever mentioned Eleanor to me -" A lump rose in Hermione's throat as she thought of her own daughter. "I can't imagine how hard it must have been, to have to completely ignore the existence of her own daughter just to keep me happy." 

"Hermione, it was Minerva who found them. During the break before summer term, Minerva packed her things and left the castle. Within a week she was back with your mum and dad in tow. Mum knew from the beginning that it was Minerva who found them but when I asked, she lied and said she didn't know. It wasn't until you and Minerva had that great row after Rose was born that Mum told me. And she wasn't very happy with you. She said: 'And to think after all that woman had done for her and now Hermione just casts her aside because she won't take the time to understand!' and of course, I asked her what she meant and she told me," Ron shuffled on his feet. "But it was Minerva who found them. She never told you because she didn't want you to feel any obligation to her. But she went and looked for them, knowing that if she found them, you would have a family again and she would have none."

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione cried. "I did love her, I did. Perhaps not in the way that I should have but I did love her! I wish that she was here, I wish that I could tell her!" 

"But now you know, Hermione. Now you know that Minerva did everything she could for you. And I'm not telling you because I want you to feel guilty. I'm telling you because it re-affirms what you think of her. She really was brilliant and magnificent and courageous. She was everything that you are," he added softly. 

*

When Minerva was carried across the lawn and placed in the high-columned white stone vault, Hermione smiled sadly. Finally, Minerva had come home. Finally she lay with her husband and daughter again and all the world could see it. All the world could know. 

Minerva McGonagall Dumbledore was finally at peace and the world knew that she, and perhaps not her husband, had been the very best person who ever lived. 

 


End file.
